Sufi
The Harvest of the Idle
سونٛتَے کۄپوٗتؠ ڈیٖشتھ ژَلن تہٕ
Sontay koapoot deeshith tsalan te
سونٛتَے کۄپوٗتؠ ڈیٖشتھ ژَلن تہٕ
Sontay koapoot deeshith tsalan te
At the dawn of spring, the unworthy sons flee
کَمس وِزِ کرن نہٕ کٲیی
Kamis wizi karan na kaayi
Shunning their toil when the season calls
ہردٕ ییٚلہِ ڈیٖنٛشن ہیٚلؠ اَلن تہٕ
Harud yeli deenshan heli alan te
When autumn arrives with its swaying sheaves
کتھ کرن گۄنہِ تہٕ کتھ کرن لٲیی
Kath karan goni te kath karan laayi
What shall they gather, and what shall they store?
Nund Rishi
